


Filthy Inside and Out

by orphan_account



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne is a Good Dad, Gen, Germophobia, Panic Attacks, Phobias, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-02-13
Packaged: 2018-09-24 03:02:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9696827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Dick has germophobia. He takes every precaution to keep himself healthy because the only thing that scares him worse than touching something dirty is getting sick. However, when a bad bout of the flu spreads through Bludhaven, Dick finds himself ill.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have germophobia nor do I know anyone who suffers from it. I apologize if I portray it incorrectly. I am very receptive to criticism, so feel free to tell me how to do something better, for anything but especially regarding the germophobia.

When Dick woke up, if you could call his muddled and barely conscious state awake, he was terrified to find himself sick. His body was heavy and achy, and there was a tight pain in his chest. When he tossed his head to the side to the read the clock on his nightstand, his head pounded, like someone was trying desperately to blow up a balloon inside his skull. He huffed, but cried out when the breath made his lungs crinkle and set scratchy fire to his throat. He was cold, practically freezing, but the blankets on top of him were hot and stuffy. Probably more unsettling than anything else was the slimy, nagging nausea churning in his stomach.

  
Yeah… He was definitely sick.

  
Dick didn’t get sick often, thank God. He had an iron clad immune system and had an intense regimen for fighting germs. It wasn’t something that many people knew, but Dick was germophobic. He was constantly washing his hands, disinfecting his stuff, consciously limiting physical contact. Just the thought of touching something infected with germs could send him into a panic attack.

  
He couldn’t put his fears on pause, but he could fight through it when he was Nightwing, when he needed to be strong for people weaker than him. Besides, when he was fighting, he wasn’t Dick anymore; he was Nightwing and Nightwing wasn’t afraid of anything, let alone germs. Dick however… Dick was afraid of germs.

  
The last time Dick had been sick was probably before he developed the phobia at the orphanage, which was years and years ago. He was too cautious, too fearful to allow himself to get close to germs. There was no way for him to sick when he was so careful about keeping the germs off of him. Plus, heroes don’t get to take sick days, so he couldn’t allow himself to fall ill when he had people depending on him.

  
However, the flu had been making its way through Bludhaven. The other day, almost every person in holding at the precinct had been infected and was sneezing or coughing or vomiting. Dick had tried to wash his hands even more, not breathe too close to the sick, and disinfect everything on his desk after each interaction. Every second at work had him on the precipice of a major panic attack.

  
He tried to go home. He wasn’t sure how long he could handle being surrounded by his greatest fear. Every cough and sneeze increased his already sky high anxiety. The sound and smell of someone throwing up turned Dick’s own stomach and made Dick’s heart beat fast. The captain needed him, though, and he was trapped in his own personal hell.

  
Precautions. That was all Dick had left. He practically bathed in hand sanitizer every half hour. He went through almost two boxes of Clorox wipes cleaning his desk after anyone walked by. He made sure not to eat or drink anything in the precinct. He had even worn a mask despite the weird looks he got. He didn’t have contact with any perps in holding. It was somewhat shameful asking his colleagues for help, but they were understanding and shame was easier to deal with than confronting his phobia.

  
When Dick’s shift was finally over, he showered three times under scalding water and scrubbed his entire body multiple times, brushed his teeth six times, flushed out his system by drinking almost a gallon of water. He had to do everything he could to disinfect himself, every precaution.

  
But all those precautions didn’t work. A bug had sneaked in past his defenses. If Dick had enough energy, he’d be panicking. His heart beat fast and his hands trembled, but Dick couldn’t break down when he was so lethargic and leaden.

  
There was a long moment where Dick couldn’t muster up enough energy to even think. He must have fallen asleep again without realizing because when he managed to think again, the sunlight streaming into his apartment was brighter and angled differently. Dick didn’t bother looking at the time; he didn’t want to know how much time he had wasted being vacant.

  
Slowly, Dick untangled himself from the blankets. He needed to clean himself, hydrate, and do everything in his power to push through the illness as quickly as possible. As he pushed himself up to his feet, the pain in his head doubled and his vision went black for a a few seconds. His stomach didn’t appreciate the new movement and Dick fought hard to keep everything inside him.

  
He stumbled towards the bathroom first; he needed to piss and brush his teeth. If he could at least get through a very basic morning routine without fainting or throwing up, he could try and take a lukewarm shower. Being clean on the outside would at least make him feel slightly better even if his insides were infected and filthy.

  
Walking was a lot harder than he had anticipated. His muscles in his legs ached and felt like rubber. Dick had to brace himself against the wall to keep himself from crumpling into a heap on the floor. When he finally made it into the bathroom, he held himself up with the counter, panting heavily from the exertion.

  
He managed to use the toilet, wash his hands, and brush his teeth thoroughly without too much strain. It felt good, clean teeth, clean hands. He wanted to be even cleaner. So he figured his next best step would be taking a shower, even if he had to sit on the floor of the tub.

  
Undressing was a task that left Dick breathing hard and leaning heavily against the wall. He climbed into the tub, which also took a lot of Dick’s limited energy. He stood, holding carefully onto the wall, under the spray of the cool water. It was painful to stand under, but it would help bring his fever down, hopefully.

  
Standing up had been a mistake. He should have just sat down, taken it easy. Dick realized this far too late. His stomach was growing more and more rebellious. Dick tried sitting down on the floor of the tub and putting his head between his knees, but it was too late. The glass of water he had drank came back up along with stomach acid, splatting against the floor of the tub and his feet. He choked and coughed for a minute and then he was spitting out bitter bile into the drain.

  
He felt filthy inside and out. There were so many germs, hundreds of thousands of bacteria in the air, on his skin, in his body, everywhere. He had contaminated his apartment with his illness, but now… He had thrown up and now the sick was in his water. It was in his pipes and now everything was disgusting, infected.

  
Dick was breathing fast and ragged, which only panicked him more because he was breathing in the polluted air. The germs were invading him; they were going to kill him. Despite his attempts to stave them off, tears ran down Dick’s grey cheeks. It was getting to be too much for him. He was so scared. His whole body was shaking and somehow numb while also hurting. He recognized the cold dizziness of a panic attack coming on.

  
He hunched over, curling tightly into himself. He could feel his hot, dirty breath on his legs, but he couldn’t bring himself to unfurl where he’d be even more exposed to the germs infesting every inch of the air. He could tell he was hyperventilating. He tried to count up to ten and down, but he was too distracted and too afraid.

  
Dick jerked away when a cold hand touched his bare shoulder. He barely heard his name being called out, like it was being shouted from behind a thick wall of cotton. He didn’t want to look up, but he slowly did.

  
Bruce was kneeling on the floor of the bathroom, looking more concerned than Dick had ever remembered seeing him, even more worried than when Dick had broken a rib and punctured a lung as Robin. Dick was too exhausted (and still having a panic attack) to have a reaction to his adopted father. Instead he just stared.

  
Bruce turned the water off and said, “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. Alfred said you didn’t call him this morning like you usually do. He got worried and asked me to check on you.”  
Dick didn’t reply. Bruce’s presence was calming him, though, so his breaths were slowly evening out.

  
“You’re pale. You’re not hurt, are you?” Bruce asked and started looking over Dick to check for injuries. When he found no blood or bruise, and Dick still hadn’t said a single word to him, Bruce placed the back of his hand against Dick’s forehead. He frowned, “Dick, you’re burning up.”

  
Dick winced, turning his face away. For a moment, the gears in Bruce’s head turned as he tried to understand the response. When it finally clicked, his face fell in sympathy. He retracted his hand. Dick like affection, but when he was in a phobic state, touch was bad and dirty. “I’ll take you back to the manor. Alfred can make you some of that soup you like. Can you get dressed?”

  
Sluggishly, Dick nodded, but when he tried to climb out of the tub, his knees gave out and he wound up on the bathroom floor. Bruce quickly covered him with a towel and helped him sit on the closed toilet seat. “Sorry,” Dick mumbled, his voice hoarse and quiet.

  
“It’s okay. Let me go find you some clothes. Dry yourself off as best as you can,” Bruce said and left to go rummage around the bedroom for some clean and comfortable pajamas. He packed a small bag of the essentials Dick would need at the manor. He set the duffel by the door and brought the pajamas back to the bathroom.

  
Dick was pretty much dry, though his hair was still dripping onto his shoulders. Bruce grabbed another towel so Dick could keep himself covered and gently scrubbed Dick’s hair until it was only damp.

  
Just as Bruce was about to suggest Dick try and dress himself, Dick’s blue eyes went wide. He threw himself to the edge of the tub and heaved into it. Nothing but spit and a bit of bile came up, nothing was left from the last expulsion. Still the stomach spasms were painful and the bile burned his already hurting throat.

  
Bruce rubbed Dick’s back as he retched fruitlessly. Dick sobbed softly. Being sick was so much harder on him. He was uncomfortable from illness already. The constant anxiety and fear only exponentially increased his misery. Bruce wished that he could take the place of his son.

  
When Dick was finally through, he let Bruce help him get dressed. He couldn’t do it himself, and he was too out of it to even care about the humiliation. Bruce didn’t say a word about it, and when he had to actually carry Dick down to the car, he didn’t say anything about that either.

  
He helped Dick into the backseat. He handed him a bottle of water and said, “Here. You need to hydrate.” Then he handed him a large mixing bowl from the apartment just in case. Dick took one small sip, afraid that if he drank any more he’d throw it up. As the car started towards Gotham, Dick slipped unconscious, too deep for it to be called sleep.

  
When Dick woke up, he was being carried by Bruce again. Slowly, Dick was able to process more and more of the conversation Bruce and Alfred were having. “...Fever, nausea, headache from what I could tell.”

  
“The flu is going around, especially in Bludhaven. I’ll start some soup and run to the pharmacy. I’ve prepared Master Dick’s room in the east wing,” Alfred said.

  
“Has…” Dick started, trying to get his mouth to cooperate in forming words, “Has it been sanitized?”

  
“Yes, thoroughly. Now, Master Dick, since you’re awake, I’d like to take your temperature.”

  
“Okay.” Dick slipped down from Bruce’s arms. Bruce steadied him, grabbing Dick’s arm, when Dick wobbled towards the floor. He let Bruce help his stay upright, but refused when Bruce tried to just carry him again.

  
When Alfred retrieved the thermometer from the first aid kit, Dick tensed. His heart skipped a beat and he muttered, “Gloves, gloves, gloves.”

  
Alfred looked at Dick in fear when he started speaking quickly under his breath. When he distinguished the word gloves, he mentally kicked himself. It had been so long since Dick had been sick and so long since Dick had such a bad episode that he had forgotten a lot of the little things that Dick needed.

  
“I apologize, Master Dick. I’ll fix it.” Alfred put latex gloves on before washing the thermometer with soap and hot water. He then changed into another, fresh pair of gloves before picking it back up. He looked at Dick before continuing, “Ready?”

  
Dick nodded. He took the thermometer into his mouth. The soapy taste was comforting, clean. When it beeped, Alfred took it out and read the number, “Almost a hundred and two degrees, sir. Definitely the flu.”

  
Dick sucked in a quick, harsh breath, almost falling if it weren’t for Bruce holding him up. His trembling, which had never quite gone away, came back full force. Bruce let him sink down to his knees and knelt down next to him. His voice was soft, the softest Bruce had ever used at all, “It’s okay, Dick. We’re here.”

  
“I can’t… The germs, Bruce. They’re inside me! In my body… I’m… They’re everywhere. Oh God, Oh God!” Dick was breathing in ragged gasps that weren’t really helping oxygenate him. He hadn’t even known he was crying until the tears dripped down onto his hands.

  
Bruce talked again, but Dick couldn’t hear him; it was all white noise. His chest started hurting even more, his fingers numb, his head pounding, and then everything went black.


End file.
